The Crux of the Moment
by AnonM1ss
Summary: Misao finds the promise of security and belonging in a secret organization, but is surprised when other emotions find their way into her heart. Aoshi hires a new spy with the intention of bringing an old nemesis down, but soon discovers that the urge to l
1. Prologue

The Crux of the Moment 

Prologue

            A lone figure stood in the scorching heat, braving the sun with boldfaced cheer. She was clad in a simple tank top and cargo mini skirt, slim flip-flops and legs bare to the world. She donned classic shades as she flipped her raven tress over her slightly tanned shoulder. Chewing grape bubblegum nonchalantly with her arms akimbo, she appeared to be a common teenager girl waiting at a bus stop. Despite her diminutive stature; however, she stood with a natural grace and had an aura of adult ease. Misao held an impatient hand up to swipe the sweat off her brow, letting out a low moan: she had been waiting for thirty minutes already. He was terribly inconsiderate. She brought a rolled up newspaper to her face, fanning herself as she bristled at the thought of being stood up—anyone who decided to business with her knew not to be so foolish. The slender woman wrinkled her nose as she scowled up at the sun : he had better have a legitimate excuse for his tardiness. Brushing her hand against the bulge of her purse, Misao smiled dryly: at least she was armed for all surprises. 

            "Fascia?"

            She spun around with a graceful turn of her head as she smiled invitingly to her new employer, "And you are the Okashira, I presume?"

            "No, he sent me to fetch you. Come, he's waiting." The tall man turned without another word, leaving a fuming Misao behind as he walked over to a sleek black Mercedes. Misao pulled at her braid irritably—the nerve! Did he seriously think she would approve of his way of "meeting" with her? She wheeled around to follow the man into the car; he had better be worth her time. 

            A tall man stood by the window; his tie loose and his collar open as he sipped idly at his coffee. He rested his hand against the window, leaning over to peer at the pedestrians on the street below. A set expression clenched his features as he brought his eyes from the passersby to slowly trail his gaze upward: the Miyazaki building. Tearing his eyes from the skyscraper, he took his hand off the window and let out a barely audible sigh. He brought his hand to rest against the back of his neck, fixing his stare at the twin swords that hung against the white, sterile wall of his office. The art of war—nothing else gave him a bigger thrill. The solemn man allowed a small grim smile to settle on his countenance as he brought his hand into his pocket. Aoshi fingered the miniscule gun in his pocket: he was ready to start the day.

            A sharp series of knocks tore into the quiet as he heard the gruff voice of his man Shiro say, "I have her, Okashira." 

            Bringing his hand out of his pocket as he took another swallow of coffee, Aoshi murmured, "Come in." He let the liquid wash over his tongue as he set the mug on his spotless desk, settling down on a large leather armchair. Shiro opened the door, led the girly woman in and gave him a sharp bow before he left the two alone in silence.

            The girl grabbed a chair in front of him without an invitation and plopped down on it without ceremony. Looking around detachedly as she whistled some random tune, she fingered her thick glossy braid with a childish gesture, her eyes guarded by dark Chanel shades. Aoshi quirked an eyebrow—_she_ was the expert spy Okina had recommended? Without revealing any emotions of his own, Aoshi scanned her features keenly: she had a full, pretty mouth, nicely defined chin and expressive, dark eyebrows. But it was her eyes that would show him what he really needed to know. Leaning forward suddenly, Aoshi brought his hand to her face. She, on the other hand, sat immobile, her body stiff once she had registered his incoming hand. He had to give her credit: she neither flinched nor swatted his hand away in reaction. Taking her shades off her nose carefully, Aoshi peered into her eyes with mild surprise. Ocean-sprayed eyes collided with frosty blue as the two held a voiceless mutual scrutiny. The first thing that flitted through his mind was: _too young_. She seemed to read his mind; however much he may have tried to hide his thoughts, because she smiled suddenly. A sun-drenched smile that seemed to warm the whole room as she pulled her purse of her arm, opened it and put her hand in it—all without breaking his gaze. To confirm his first impression of her, she took out a small strawberry yogurt cup with a plastic spoon, opened it and proceeded to eat it in front of him, her knowing eyes twinkling as she spooned out the pink substance. Aoshi suddenly felt uncomfortable and very out of place—all of the women he had the opportunity to work with never portrayed themselves in such a manner. All the others had always come in with a beguiling smile, long legs sharp in a business suit and skirt, complimented by sophisticated heels. She wore flip-flops and a cargo miniskirt.

            It seemed like that tables had turned. A moment ago, when she had registered his hand reaching for her face, Misao had felt cornered and wary, but now it seemed like he was bemused as to how he would treat her. She let him squirm in confusion as she proceeded to demolish her yogurt—she was really glad she had brought it; otherwise, her stomach would have grumbled most unpleasantly through their meeting. Eying him with an easy grin, she realized that she was probably the only woman who had ever had the audacity to present herself to him in such a manner. Once she had gotten the last scoop of yogurt, she licked her spoon decisively before she tossed it neatly along with the cup in the trash bin by her side, "So, Okashira-san, I believe you have an assignment to offer me?"


	2. Fascia

Chapter 1: Fascia

"So, Okashira-san, I believe you have an assignment to offer me?"

Aoshi nodded slightly, his façade back in place, "We normally only involve those who have had…connections with our business before, but in your case, I am considering to make an exception. Fascia, or rather, Makimachi Misao—we have been keeping track of all your activities under all your different aliases." 

Misao repressed an instinctive shiver—was she supposed to be impressed that he had men stalking her? She would not let him get the upper hand in this; she gave him a saucy smile before leaning comfortably against the leather chair, fingering her purse easily, "What gives?" 

Aoshi quirked an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

Leaning over, Misao brought her face close to his, their breath mingling as Misao remarked, "There must be some reason for your sudden decision to 'hire' me. What makes you think I'll accept any offer from the likes of you and your brethren?"

Aoshi gave her an undecipherable look before he said tersely, "Your grandfather's on the line."

Misao stood up, furious as her light eyes darkened to a stormy cobalt hue, "_That_ is an underhanded strike. Do you possibly think that I would be careless enough to—"

Aoshi stood up abruptly, grasping her wrist roughly as he drew her nearer to him, her abdomen grinding painfully against the sharp edge of his desk, "That is not the message I meant to relay, Makimachi. Listen to me; your grandfather is in a critical situation, is that not correct?" Upon seeing her nod reluctantly, her deep eyes focused on him, Aoshi continued, "We offer protection and medical aid. If you work for us, we will cover all costs and make sure that you and your grandfather are well provided for. We have ties with Himura enterprises and the Takani Medical Facilities. Your past wrongdoings? They'll be taken care of by a certain police affiliate I have in the city." Aoshi let her wrist go, stepped back and watched her through icy, shielded eyes, his arm outstretched in a silent offer. Misao absentmindedly massaged her wrist—he had a vice grip that she was sure had bruised her—as she continued to return his gaze, her eyes probing his with unexpected skill. 

"What do the Oniwabanshuu have to offer that the Juppon Gattana don't?"

 Aoshi let his hand drop—they clearly weren't ready for any sort of physical contact: "Integrity." 

Misao had to laugh—really, was there such a thing in a cosmopolitan society such as Tokyo these days? Shaking her head slightly, Misao teased, "Shishio offered ideals and prestige from the beginning. That doesn't keep me from thinking he's a lunatic."

"What do you have in mind, then?"

Misao looked at him squarely, "Security for Jiya and a nonbonding contract for me. As soon as this mission's over, I call it quits."

Aoshi's eyes flickered as he let his eyes size her up. Several seconds passed in quiet scrutiny before Aoshi nodded, passing a slender briefcase to the young woman as he drew nearer to explain matters to her more clearly. 

Misao sighed—what a hectic day. Instead of getting a nonbonding contract, Shinomori had set a six-month employment, and had accordingly put a deadline for her to complete her goal. She had been intuitively correct when naming the Juppon Gattana in terms of rivalry—Shinomori had asked her to infiltrate their systems, obtain crucial information, which would consequently lead to the downfall of their sponsors, Yukishiro and Kanryuu, the two co-leaders of the Miyazaki corporation.  She had taken the day to get acquainted with her co-workers and superiors, a thought that made Misao frown—she hadn't worked in an organization since… well, deftly put, Misao preferred to ride solo in her clandestine escapades. She stepped out of the taxi dejectedly, a fine tremor working its way up her body as she acknowledged the biting night breeze that chilled her through her inadequate clothing. Looking up with a sigh, Misao walked into the formidable Takani General Hospital with a slim folder at hand. 

"Your name, miss?"

Misao blinked owlishly—she had been waiting for several minutes already, watching the nurse with growing impatience as she snapped pink bubble gum and typed inanely at the keyboard. Pasting a smile across her features, Misao responded, "Makimachi Misao. I'm requesting transfer membership at the facilities for my disabled grandfather." 

The nurse looked up with a bored expression, taking in the young woman's apparently juvenile features with a flicker of mild amusement, "Can I see your ID, please?" 

Inwardly fuming, Misao fished her driver's license and social security number with another forced smile—no one ever believed her real age, and consequently never took her seriously. Handing it over sharply to the nurse, she said cheerily, "Here you go!"

The nurse blinked, scanned the photograph, and then looked Misao over again before she grinned, "I can't believe you're twenty-four. You don't look a day over sixteen or seventeen." 

Misao's smile began to hurt her cheeks as she said through clenched teeth, "So I've heard." Shinomori didn't believe her either. Earlier that day during their meeting, Misao had told him her real age and his eyes told her he clearly thought she was lying until she dished out her ID. Even then, Misao had the suspicion that he was trying to figure out if the ID was fake or not. 

"Now I need your medical insurance information, then you need to fill this application out." Misao smiled triumphantly—at least she didn't need to mope about wasted time. Brandishing the folder with zest, Misao handed it over to the nurse and then gestured her to look into it. After reading the first page, the Nurse's eyebrow quirked as she looked at Misao with new interest, "Oh, one of _those_. Wait a second; I'll get Doctor Takani herself." 

Misao let out a wistful sigh as she watched the nurse amble through the double doors: she could count on waiting at least another ten minutes for the Nurse to find the doctor, then pull her out of her break or surgery or whatever. Then she would take another ten minutes to make small talk and remember that there was a reason for pulling the doctor away from her current activities and deliver her to the waiting person at the head of the line. She might as well amuse herself. 

Megumi Takani let her hair down with an exasperated sigh. The simpering look of understanding that dolt of a nurse threw at her didn't help her foul mood. She rarely took breaks, and even then, idiots who couldn't tell a tongue depressor from a Popsicle stick interrupted her, threatening to wreak havoc upon her already fragile composure. Her heels were killing her, her monthly visitor had just come the night before and a close friend and patient was under a critical condition, leaving her in no mood to deal with dimwits. Walking briskly out of the double doors with flashing eyes and an equally sharp tongue, Megumi groaned slightly—had she been called out to deal with a child? 

Misao looked up from her jumping jacks and gave the frazzled doctor a cheeky grin before putting them away in a small pouch with painstaking slowness. She knew the lady doctor was growing more irate by the moment, which made her smile grow when she finally straightened up and said, "As you can see in the contents of the folder you're holding, I'm under the charge of the—I mean, under Shinomori's charge, which qualifies my grandfather to immediate transfer care." 

Megumi looked over the young woman keenly before flipping through the folder and nodded, "Yes, your grandfather will not have to make the customary wait—he will be transferred to our clinics and care right away." Misao gave her a grin: at last! Her day had taken a turn for the better with the good news. While Misao celebrated her victory internally, Megumi's dark eyes shined with amusement as she mused aloud, "Twenty-four?" Misao felt her smile leave her face nearly at once—then again, maybe not. Still, a good lady always remembered her manners. Bowing respectfully to the head doctor, Misao extended her arm and smiled, her face as open as her outstretched hand, "May we be well met, Dr. Takani. I thank you for the privilege you are granting my grandfather and I." 

Megumi's lips curved up into a reluctant smile—she was charming, to say the least, "You're very welcome, Makimachi-san." Her eyes followed the younger woman's slender figure as she left the hospital, her gaze darkening slightly as she asked silently, _Why risk her, Aoshi?_

Misao left the building exhilarated—Jiya was going to finally get the treatment he deserved! After watching him deteriorate for years, Misao had finally come up with a way to heal his wayward, recurring tumor. She had been overjoyed when Aoshi had mentioned the Oniwabanshuu's ties with the Takani Medical Facilities; after all, they offered the finest medical services in the nation and had gained worldwide acclaim. Misao's eyes misted slightly as she threw her fist into the air impulsively—a milestone reached in her life. All she needed was to see Jiya through his surgery and treatment and get rid of this one assignment, and then perhaps—_perhaps_, she could recommence her grad studies. With her heart soaring, Misao tossed her head to greet the stars, glad to know that Jiya would get transferred from Kyoto and move into Tokyo within a matter of days. Her triumph lasted only for a few seconds; however, when she felt something warm and solid collide with her, knocking her rather roughly to the ground. "Ow! Whaddya think you're—" Misao looked down to peer into hazy russet eyes. The stranger looked at her with distant eyes, his breaths betraying the presence of alcohol and his scruffy appearance immediately awakening her pity. She simultaneously pitied and scorned drunkards. "Here," she muttered, grabbing his arm firmly, "Lemme help you up." The large man complied mutely, leaning on her heavily as she helped him get up. He stumbled against her, nearly crushing her with his weight when she felt him gag, and immediately pulled him over to the street curb as he vomited violently, "There, there… atta boy, cough it up." 

Once he had stopped in his actions, the young man looked at her with heavy eyes, "Eh, chibi-chan—go home. You shouldn't help strangers, y'know. I could be dangerous. Now go; shoo!" Gesturing menacingly at Misao, he then turned to vomit some more. Misao rolled her eyes: sure, real dangerous. After he had finally stopped, Misao helped him up again, only to have him shove her off, "Geroff me." Then, wavering unsteadily, he began to walk down the street. Misao shrugged—it was his life. Then brushing her skirt off scrupulously, Misao chanced a look at the drunken man. He had stopped in the middle of the road and stared up into the stars just like she had before he had bumped into her. Unable to tear her eyes off of the image he cast, Misao stood up slowly. Suddenly her heart wrenched painfully; he looked lonely, as if he carried the weight of an incredibly great burden on his shoulders, and couldn't handle it. Almost… almost like herself. Misao approached him warily, wispy tendrils whipping against her face as the crisp nocturnal air blew harshly against her bare legs and arms—strange thing was that she no longer felt the cold. As she drew nearer to the man, she was surprised to see that his face was wet with tears. Misao clucked her tongue empathetically as she clutched him firmly by the waist. He looked down with surprise to find a pair of determined sapphire eyes glaring at him, "No buts, young man. We're gonna find a place for you to stay." 

He was taken aback, staring at this young whisp of a girl grab him and order him around. His surprise; however, soon gave way to dry humor as he chuckled, "Are you sure your okaa-chan ain't gonna pass out at the sight of me, jou-chan?" He liked her already: she had spunk.

Misao met his humor with a fierce scowl, "My okaa-san's dead. There isn't anyone to faint at the sight of you except perhaps my landlady. And God knows what she already suspects about my reputation." Then, tugging him decisively, Misao growled, "I haven't got all day, baka. I've got to eat dinner, so c'mon!" 

She proceeded to half-drag and half-carry the man until he laughed once more, "Alright, alright jou-chan! Off we go!" Winking heartily at her, he strolled down the street with Misao's support, making her wince as he sang at the top of his lungs all the way home.

Mother of God, he had the biggest fucking headache. Sitting up wearily as he wiped his watery eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, Sanosuke rubbed his temples as he let out a barely audible groan. Once the pounding subsided enough for him to look at his surroundings, Sanosuke found that he was lying in a soft bed. A feminine bed, he noted decisively as he took in the delicate scent of freshly washed hair and lavender bed covers. Rising unsteadily to his feet, the tall young man leaned heavily against an immaculate wall with a heavy thud. Sudden footsteps notified him that the owner of the place was at home. He turned, prepared to meet the person at the gaping doorway. A pair of slender, fine toned legs appeared, making Sanosuke smile appreciatively as he followed the fine curves of her body to her face with a smirk: "Well hello, jou-chan." 

The petite young woman, no older than a high school girl, really, gave him a sour look before rushing over and pushing him back forcefully on the bed, "Big stupid boys who can't tolerate large doses of alcohol have to stay home sick for the day."

Sanosuke grinned—what a saucy little thing! Leaning easily back onto the bed, he replied suavely, "Fine with me, if you're the one pampering me."

The girl gave him a scowl even as she blushed, "My fist'll pamper you if you don't lay down and stay quiet like a good kid."

"Kid? You're the one to talk! Shouldn't you be going to school soon?"

The braided youth bristled, her back stiff as she turned towards the door, saying quietly, "Sit tight. I'll get you some aspirin and water."

Sanosuke frowned uneasily—she seemed offended. Had he gone too far?

Misao massaged the back of her neck wearily, looking down to check herself. Did she really seem so undeveloped and green that no one could see her for what she truly was? She let out a deep sigh as she fished out the bottle of pills and walked over to the sink to get a glass of water. Walking steadily back to her room to face the stranger, Misao shook her head slightly: she wouldn't let anything weigh her down yet—it was only nine o'clock, for crying out loud. She had to last for the rest of the day, and couldn't afford any bouts of self-pity so early in the morning. She slipped on a blank countenance, contemplating what to do with her "guest". The sooner he left, the better. Even undercover spies had to keep their flats, so contrary to what she had said the night before, her reputation was worth keeping if it meant she could keep her place. "Here," she said tersely, "take two; they'll be enough to handle your hang-over."

She wasn't prepared for the unarming grin he gave her: "Thanks, hon." He gestured for her to take a seat by his side, and when he saw her hesitate, he drawled, "Well, it _is_ your bed." Scowling, the petite woman sat resolutely by his side, staring grimly at the wall, determined not to speak unless necessary. 

"Jou-chan, what's your name?"

She blinked with surprise, and then with ill-concealed suspicion: what would he want to know her name for? She peered at him carefully, her words slow with deliberation, "Equal exchange—tell me yours, and I'd readily comply to your request."

"Fair enough. The name's Sagara Sanosuke."

She liked the sound of it. Strong, with a heady feeling to it, like strolling in the woods and the sound of waves crashing down on jarring sand. Suddenly, she felt at ease; whoever he was, she didn't feel any particular threat coming from him. Misao turned her face towards him as she gave him a tentative smile, "You may call me Makimachi Misao."

"Much better, jou-chan. Now, be a good girl and tell me your age—maybe it'll be legal for me to treat you out for dinner or something later on."

Misao's slight smile shifted abruptly, betraying a feline, mischievous angle to her personality, "Twenty-four."

Sanosuke nearly spit out his water, "Nani?" At her slow nodding, Sanosuke grinned suddenly, "Aw, what the hell. You're still three years younger than me. At least I'm not being pedophilic, eh?"

At this, Misao grinned, "Hardly, Sano-kun."

"Oy! You should call me Sanosuke-sempai. I'm worthy of some respect, you know."

"After taking your shameful misconduct from last night? I think not."

"Brat!"

"Is that the best you can come up with, tori atama?"

Sanosuke raised his arms in defeat as he rolled his eyes dramatically, "I surrender! Sheesh, where'd you learn to hurt people's feelings so well?"

If it was possible, Sanosuke swore that he could see an infinite sadness envelop her, maturing her before his eyes by decades as she whispered her response from the protection of her shielding hair, "Personal experience." The young man shifted uneasily; the atmosphere was almost too much for him to bear: "Okay… I tell you what—as a token of my appreciation, I'll fix breakfast up for you." He chose to ignore her snort and incredulous look as he got up abruptly and left the room. 

Misao smiled with amusement—what an odd character he was! "Hey, Sano! Sano-kun! Wait, where are you—you don't even know where the kitchen is! Matte!" 

Aoshi's eyes flickered over the files with expertise, deft fingers sorting out important papers as a willowy, elegant woman walked into his office without knocking. He looked up briefly, only to allow her the faintest nod of acknowledgment before pushing his papers away. The long-haired beauty seated herself on top of his desk with a slight frown, "Mou, Aoshi! You won't even greet your fiancée with a proper smile? Cold, cold man!" Aoshi stretched as he let out a yawn before he sat back into his chair with a closed expression, "What can I do for you, Megumi?" 

The tall woman was not unnerved by his taciturn ways—she had, after all, known him since college. Turning to face him fully, Megumi put on her most charming smile, "Come on, Aoshi—take a break for once. You can't really coop yourself up in Oniwa business forever. Even okashiras have fun once in a while." 

Aoshi shook his head, "Can't today. I have a new case to consider—a new and extremely important one, at that." 

The lady doctor bit her full lower lip, her eyebrows wrought together as she impulsively took his hand. Aoshi stared up at her in mild surprise: usually she was just as squeamish about openly portraying her affections, even when they were alone—she knew how much he shrank away from tactile contact. She leaned over, her dark eyes expressive as she murmured, "Why did you hire the girl? For whatever her age may be, she is only a child. If she gets hurt, it is the innocence of a youth you are tampering with!" 

The tall man broke her hold on his hand promptly, "She is not a child. Once you see her grandfather, you'll see what I mean. Her appearances are sorely misleading."

Megumi sighed, "If you say so, Aoshi." The tall woman got off his desk, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a way Aoshi had memorized after all the years of acquaintance, "Be easy on her." He nodded firmly, gently enduring a soft kiss Megumi laid on his forehead before she sauntered out of his office. 

Author: Muy random? Actually, no! You'll see as the tale unravels (mwahahaha!). DO NOT WORRY! This is an A+M fic: I can't even surmise how Aoshi and Megumi would work out—their personalities make them seem incompatible to me. 


End file.
